


Your Shield

by Ruis



Category: Original Work
Genre: Epistolary, F/F, Femslash, Former Poet Turned Bodyguard/Their Unruly and Headstrong Charge - Freeform, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 06:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23846929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/pseuds/Ruis
Summary: Let my words be your shield.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5
Collections: Unsent Letters 2020





	Your Shield

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelonggoodbye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelonggoodbye/gifts).



To Her Royal Highness Princess Lesindra of the unruled plains,  
From… (You always captured me with my name on your lips, I will never be able to write it again after hearing it spoken in your voice.)

Dear Lesy,

I hope I can still call you that. Using your old official titles feels trite now, after all you went through. Maybe you lost a kingdom, or maybe you gained one, I do not know, but never think you lost me. I am nearby, closer than you maybe think. Did you ever read my last poem? I left it on that nightstand I suppose you never returned to. (You never needed writing to read me anyway, so why did I bother?) I know you think of me. How could you not? Although you rarely showed me just how much you care, you were never heartless. I cherish every smile you ever gifted me. Please know that you are not alone. 

Are you afraid right now? Let my words be your shield, the last barrier between you and your pursuers. Let me write this last spell for you, oh highborn lady in the wilderness, heroine of an epic in centuries to come. (I do not have a brush on me but the lock of your hair I have always carried close to my heart.) I am not the best soldier you could have had in your service, not a knight destined for fame and glory. I am not strong but my verse has some power. Let me write the song of your escape from the fate you had been born to. Let me at least serve you in this small way.

You could have been heiress to an empire. You could have been safe, in the palace, in my arms. And yet, I should have known you would leave. (The endless sky is an empty parchment for me to fill with words, just for you.) I remember what you said to me once, long ago: what use is a castle when you could have the world? You made a beautiful princess in all your finery. And yet it should have been blindingly obvious you were never meant to rule from a golden cage. Holding a ball and marrying a prince has never been your style. Lesy, my ruler, you are too fierce, too proud, too strong. You are free, but your enemies are right behind you. So are your friends, of course. So am I.

The day you left, I woke up in an empty bed, maybe a fateful sign of what was to come. Maybe I am reading too much into that, but be assured that in any good narrative, it would count as foreshadowing, and I am the author, am I not? I would have loved to wake up next to you. (I write with the sunlight that dappled your pillow that morning.) Your scent was still on the blankets, and I stayed longer than I should have. I remember every single crease in the bed sheets. I had no idea then what you would do. Let me protect you with a wall of meter mortared with rhyme. Without you, what have I left to lose?

I know I will never see home again. I will never secretly have tea with you on the balcony, and my favorite desk in the library will soon be occupied by another scholar. (All that is left behind are ink stains.) I regret leaving all this behind but I could never regret following you. My life is not a side note in the castle’s history anymore. You give me another meaning, and I thank you for that. I am grateful I am allowed to guard you, your secrets, your life and your heart.

Guarding you always scared me. Guarding you always made me proud, too, and especially on that last day in the throne room. When they defied you, you never backed down. When they threatened, you held your head high and laughed in their faces, even knowing you would have to run. I clutched the hilt of my sword so hard it left furious red imprints on my writing hand. I never loved you more than in that moment. Did you know I was watching? It is not always easy to tell. I watched you walk away, and later that night I followed your trail, as you doubtlessly knew I would. (The trail of the hem of my dress in the dirt spelled my love, easy to read for those who know not just to track.) No one else dared follow right then, for which I am infinitely glad. Who would want to be the first villain in your ballad? And who would write it down when the poet is slaughtered?

You chose a country that can never be ruled, a land without borders and laws. It suits you, my lady. You are not a princess anymore, nor am I a poet. You are a true ruler, and unless I am very much mistaken your enemies will learn that at your hand. Lesy, my love, you are the one future poets will sing about, and it is my greatest pride to contribute a few verses to your story. I am just one step behind you, in your shadow. I am your faithful chronicler, bodyguard and lover. I am the last one to protect you. In your hands, I could become your weapon to conquer the world.

If all the shields fail let my words be your arrow. (I wrote on the air.) Are you preparing for the coming fight right now? I know you are. You are predator, not prey, too strong to be hunted down. Your epic will not speak of your fear in the night, hunted by those who should have been serving you. It will speak of your glory instead, of your bravery, of your untamed beauty when you finally turned around for that last fateful battle. There are enemies in the fields. String your bow. Lesy, my queen, let this letter fly true.

Yours.


End file.
